Mary did not answer, but going to the door, she seized the heavy bolt, and with one turn of her strong fingers, fastened it securely.
“There,” she said, “I guess that’s safe enough. Nobody can get in here from the other side, anyway. I can’t see there’s any call to say any more about it. I’ve heard of that poor lady next door, and I guess it’s a good thing you went to cheer her up once in a while. I’m glad her brother’s come to look after her.”
So Grandma was not told of the door that had remained unfastened for so many years, and when Molly and Maud returned, they were regaled with such a wonderfully exciting story of the morning’s happenings, as fairly took away their breath, and caused them to almost forget to describe the parade.
“It’s just exactly like a book thing,” Molly declared, “breaking the news to Miss Polly and all, but I wish you hadn’t run away so quick. It would be so interesting to know what they all did.”
Daisy blushed.
“We couldn’t have stayed,” she said. “It was all so sort of solemn, you know, and beautiful. Perhaps we can go in again this afternoon—not through the door in the wall, that’s bolted—but when we are out for our walk. We can find out how Miss Polly is then, and you must see that adorable baby.”
When the four little girls presented themselves at the invalid’s door that afternoon, they found a very different Miss Polly from the one they had left a few hours earlier. There was a bright color in her cheeks, and a light in the eyes that had looked so sad and wistful of late. Miss Polly was alone, for her brother and sister-in-law had gone away to the hotel, where they were to pass the night.
“Tom is coming to see me again this evening,” she told them, and in her voice was a ring of wonderful new happiness. “Oh, children, I can’t help feeling as if it must be a dream, and that I shall wake up after a while. I have dreamed of this before, but I never believed it would come true.”
“Then—then you’re not very angry,” whispered Daisy, nestling close to her friend. “I was so afraid you would never forgive me for writing that letter. Dulcie and Molly thought I ought not to have done it, but, oh, Miss Polly dear, I couldn’t help it. You were so unhappy that day, and you said it was your pride, and—and——”
“My dear little girl,” interrupted Miss Polly, putting her arm round her tenderly, “I couldn’t possibly be angry with any one to-day, much less with some one who has been the means of bringing me this great joy. I would not advise you to make a practice of trying to arrange your friends’ affairs, but in this case it has turned out all right.”